


Overwatch Mini-fics

by PeacefulPhoenix



Series: Daily Writing [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Apparently I was the first to use a Winston/Hammond tag, Collections - Freeform, Cool, Multi, Short Stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 07:25:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15747066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeacefulPhoenix/pseuds/PeacefulPhoenix
Summary: Some different stuff I write mostly to practice writing. I take requests. First posted to writing-partners.tumblr.com then posted here





	1. Mercy & McCree

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on writing-partners.tumblr.com, check there to make requests or see things first

Mercy tried very hard to keep her desk clean. Not only did a clean work environment feel lighter but it was a personal point of pride. If she could keep her desk clean then it proved her work ethic.

Then again, life -- and especially work -- got in the way pretty easily. Suddenly there were four mugs, one half-touched dinner, and far too many papers cluttering everything up.

She was trying in vain to do some kind of rearranging when there was a knock at her door. Making one last ditch effort to straighten out the main pile of papers, she called over her shoulder, “Come in!” doing her best to sound as chipper as ever. 

“Hey there, Doc. You busy?” McCree stepped through the doorway but didn’t come any closer just yet. His signature cowboy hat was clutched in his hand now instead of sitting atop his head. 

She turned to face him, eyes lingering on her work before finally tearing themselves away to look at her new guest. “For you, never.” Angela swept out her arm, motioning towards an armchair tucked into the corner of the room. 

McCree was more than happy to flop down into it, hat falling into his lap now. “Aw shucks, you flatter me.” The edges of his lips curled up into a smile and Angela shook her head though not without a smile on her own lips. 

“What can I do for you today, Mr. McCree?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.

He looked down and chuckled before looking up to meet her gaze again. “Oh Angela, you know you can call me Jesse. And I’m not her for myself for once. Fit as a fiddle actually!” He beamed from ear to ear, seemingly quite proud of that fact. And considering how often he was in this office for other reasons, he should be. 

“Of course. Jesse. Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Well you see, Doc,” he started, hands already up in defense, “I’m not claiming to spend a lot of time there or nothin’, but I’ve been around the mess a few times now and I haven’t caught a glimpse of ya.” He put his hands down now and ran one along the brim of his hat. “Could be we’re runnin’ on different schedules o‘ course, but judging by that plate on you desk I’m thinkin’ my hunch was right.” 

Mercy’s chest tightened a bit as her eyes followed McCree’s to the plate of food on her desk. “Your hunch being?” While she knew exactly what he was implying she refused to admit to it point blank. 

He gave her a look like he knew exactly what she was doing. “Well that you ain’t been eating as much as you should be, are you? So I’ve come to ask you if you’d like to grab some dinner with me, Angela.”

She turned back to her desk and chose a paper at random to look like she was reading. “While I appreciate the offer, as you can see I’m quite busy,” she said shortly.

“Come on now, I insist,” he responded, standing from the chair and offering his hand. “Don’t have to be gone for more than 30 minutes.”

“Well…” The sound of the chair creaking against the floor as he stood had drawn her eyes once again towards him. “Perhaps... if we’re quick about it.” She smiled at him in spite of that knot in her chest and he beamed back at her.

When offered her hand, he took it and helped her out of her chair. “Perfect! Now let me just grab these mugs for you and we can be on our way.” Placing his hat back atop his head and freeing his hands, he managed to scoop up all four of the empty mugs and the plate without looking off balance. 

Mercy rested her hand on his forearm and felt the tension in her ease. “Thank you, Jesse.”

“Any time, ma’am.”


	2. Hammond/Winston Highschool AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highschool AU where Hammond is wheelchair bound and mute and Winston is just a good dude in his class

The steady rhythm of the wooden pencil clicking against the desk set a subtle tempo to the droning on of the teacher lecturing at the front of class. Whatever he was saying, Hammond was about 95% sure he knew. Of course, he wasn’t paying enough attention to know if he knew it or not. 

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his mohawk. School rules forbid him from dying it -- and they did enforce that rule. He’d tested already -- but much to the dismay of many of his teachers, there was no rule against the hair style itself. If it got much longer it would be a “distraction to class” and it was getting long. But that was a problem for future him. Or, rather, his teachers.

It took several seconds for Hammond to realize the teacher had fallen silent, his pencil sounding now more like a tired metronome. The rest of the kids in the class were glancing around at each other and whispering. Whatever had last been said had apparently peaked everyone’s interest.

The students started getting up and milling about. Partnering up and clustering into groups to whisper. It wasn’t until someone walked up to him, though, that he figured out what was going on.

“Do you need a lab partner?”

Winston stood before him. Well, it might be more accurate to say he towered over him. Even if Hammond could stand, Winston would likely be at least a head taller than him. Genetics really had fucked him over, huh?

He didn’t answer right away, instead Hammond looked around the rest of the room. Most everyone was paired up already. And those who had yet to find someone weren’t exactly the most pleasant people. Then again, most people would say he wasn’t the most pleasant person either. A few people were casting sideways glances their way. Why exactly he couldn’t figure out, nor find himself caring enough to even try to. 

Eventually he turned back to Winston who, despite the long pause, was still standing there with a smile on his face. He did shift his weight from side to side occasionally and glance around, but his gaze kept coming back to Hammond. 

Once he had Winston’s focus he shrugged and nodded. 

While Hammond wheeled himself over to one of the labstations, Winston went to the front to collect the assignment for both of them. These labs were designed to be stood at which just made him feel smaller than he already was. But that wasn’t anything new. 

When Winston returned, he brought with him one of the desk chairs and sat alongside Hammond.

Great, now neither of them could see the counter. 

“I think it would benefit us to just take this class period to plan what we’ll do. No need to rush to construction without a solid plan to build from,” Winston stated confidently. He dug around in his bag and pulled out a notebook that looked like it was one stiff breeze from coming apart. He let the pages skim past his thumb, flipping through the book until he came to the very end where there were some blank pages.

There was no use trying to respond seeing as Winston wasn’t looking at him but Hammond found his eyebrows pulling together as he tried to figure out what he was talking about. Was this not an in class lab? 

When Winston looked over, Hammond clearly still looked as confused as he felt because he set down the notebook and pen. “You weren’t paying attention.” He spoke now as confidently as he had earlier. “You know, teachers put a lot of work into trying to make engaging lessons to teach us stuff. It’s really rude to ignore them.”

Hammond looked to the side and laughed to himself. “I put a lot of work into not falling asleep so I think it’s fair play,” he signed, smiling to himself. If he really wanted to make what he was saying known, he carried around a notebook. But there was something fun about signing at people, knowing they didn’t understand. It was like having a secret language used almost exclusively for shit talking people. 

“Wait, slow down I can’t read it that fast.”

Shit.

“Why do you know sign language?” he signed again, this time much more slowly. Winston’s eyes were trained on his hands, tongue peaking out between his lips as he focused.

He stayed focus for another second after Hammond stopped signing before responding. “Well I should be able to talk to everyone, right? It’s not kind to ignore people who can’t speak.”

Of course his response would be something like that. 

“Just tell me about the project.”

They’d been assigned to create a trebuchet. They had about a week to do it. Any materials they wanted but it needed to launch a projectile a certain number of feet. Of all the science classes, it seemed physics was proving to be the least lame.

Winston was sketching a rough shape on the lined paper of his notebook, glancing up every so often to make sure Hammond wasn’t trying to sign. 

Once he’d gotten a rough shape sketched out Hammond shook his head and touched Winston’s arm. Once he had his attention, Hammond pulled out a pad of graph paper, flicking past unfinished projects until he came to a clean page. “You need to do it more like this.” He began sketching out another shape. Similar to Winston’s but sturdier. “We need to make sure it doesn’t topple when it fires.”

“What if we put it on wheels?” Winston asked, pointing along the base of the drawing where he thought the wheels would fit best.

So maybe he wasn’t just a pretty face after all.

The rest of the period seemed to go quickly. Aside from the occasional lapse in communication, the planning session had gone well. The previously empty page now had a half dozen sketches on it, lists of materials, the occasional chicken scratchy writing from when Hammond had opted to write what he wanted to say instead of signing it, and Winston’s number scrawled in the upper right corner with a promise to get together to work on the project over the weekend.

For once, Hammond was actually looking forward to coming back to class.


	3. Moira/Mercy

Everyone who knew her knew that Angela was horrible at keeping her work at work. So it was no surprise that despite being in her quarters, she was still pouring over papers. On the plus side, it was a smaller pile of papers than normal. Her bed was still relatively free. Enough so that her guest was able to stretch out on it while she sat on the corner.

“I would tell you that you work too much but-” Moira trailed off so Angela finished the sentence for them.

“But you work just as much as I do.” Mercy glanced over her shoulder to smile at Moira who just shrugged and nodded.

They crossed their legs and leaned forward. “At least I have the decency to put my work down when I have company.” They wrapped their hand around Mercy’s shoulder and tugged gently. “Come on, put it down.”

“We both know you don’t,” Mercy responded without looking up from her papers. In fact, she refused to look up, even as Moira pulled her back until she was laying flat on her back. 

Well this was futile apparently. Moira shook their head and sighed but then picked up some of the records themself. “What’s got you so interested anyways? Are your patients being more reckless than normal? McCree hasn’t gone and lost his other arm yet has he?”

Mercy’s gentle laughter sounded almost reminiscent of bells. For a second she considered chastising Moira for looking at what was supposed to be privileged information but they had shared notes before. Surely there could be no harm in it. “Not yet. Though he has gotten his fair share of bumps, bruises, and bullet holes lately.”

“Of course.”

“No, I’m not looking at his records today.” Mercy finally put down her papers and gazed up at Moira. “It seems there’s been a rise in what I believe has been psychosomatic symptoms. Headaches that refuse to go away. Aching muscles that last long after a hard mission. That sort of thing.”

Moira caught her gaze for half a moment and allowed themself a small smile. “Well Morrison has been running everyone ragged. It’s probably just stress. He hasn’t even cut Reinhardt a break.”

“Oh you mean Rein has been complaining about his joints again?” Moira nodded. “I think that’s more to do with aging than missions.” They both smiled at that. His hair was getting white more quickly than he liked to admit and no amount of blond dye could cover that up. 

Moira let their smile drop as they slipped back into business mode again. “So you’ve got all these patients with psychosomatic symptoms. Do you have a plan to treat them?”

“Well that’s the problem. Normal treatment hasn’t been working so I need to try something else.”

“That’s quite the predicament you’ve found yourself in, Angel.”

Mercy allowed herself a wider smile at the pet name. “I do have one idea.”

She stopped talking so Moira shot her an inquisitive look. She found Angela holding her arms open. “You’re going to hug them better?” they asked skeptically. 

“Just help me test my theory,” she asked, doing her best to look doe-eyed.

“Angela, I feel fine. This test is hardly scientific.”

“Moira, come hug me.” This time her voice was harder. A clear demand. And not an entirely uninviting one.

They wanted to argue and for a second they sat there, lips pressed together in a line. But they had trouble denying Angela anything so they moved closer and allowed themself to be pulled into her arms. 

Mercy put a hand in their hair and guided their head to her chest. The other arm wrapped around their back and stroked down it, slow and steady. She pet their hair too, humming almost a purr deep in her chest. 

Moira tried to remain composed, to stay convinced that this was a silly solution to a very real problem. But they found it difficult to do so. They could hear the hum in her chest what with the way their ear was pressed to her sternum; could hear the sound of her heartbeat. A constant, steady rhythm. And she was soft. Everything about the moment was soft, really. And so they found it hard to remain firm and sharp. They found themself relaxing into it and a light blush dusted their cheeks.

The two stayed that way for some time. About 30 seconds into it, Angela began to hum a tune and rock gently. She stayed there, steady and constant until Moira pulled away. A soft smile pulled at her lips as she watched the blush slowly fade from Moira’s cheeks as they tried to remain composure again, slipping back into that cold and detached persona. 

“Well,” they said, slipping a finger into their collar and tugging. “You may be on to something.” They fell quiet again but their eyebrows were still pulled together as if they were thinking something through. 

“But?” Mercy supplied, one hand now resting on Moira’s knee, not entirely done with the physical contact.

Moira paused for a second before pulling Mercy into a quick kiss. “But you’re mine.”

Mercy laughed quietly again. “And you’re not willing to share?” They shook their head. “Not even for the well being of Overwatch?”

“Overwatch will be fine.”

“If you say so,” Mercy responded, gathering up all the papers from the bed and setting them on the bedside table. “I think we need to do some more experiments though. Just in case.”

“It wouldn’t be science if we didn’t repeat our experiment,” Moira agreed, pulling their angel closer.


	4. Roadhog & Junkrat

A loud snap cracked through the air, dispelling the silence that had previously filled the air. A further series of clatters followed soon after as tools were shoved off a desk.

“Fuck!”

Roadhog finally looked up from where he was picking through a pile of scrap. What he found didn’t entirely surprise him.

Junkrat say hunched over at his desk, screwdrivers and pliers and wrenches all over the floor along with a healthy helping of screws, nuts, and bolts. In fact, even the chair he normally sat at had been tipped to the floor. One pulled helplessly at one of his modified bear traps that was now securely lodged around his prosthetic arm. He put his whole body into trying to pull the trap apart but that didn’t do much besides almost sending him to the floor as well.

After struggling for a while longer, he looked over his shoulder towards Roadhog who had been watching for several minutes now. “Well are you gonna help or just stare?”

He tipped his head for a second like he was considering it. He nodded once as he came to a decision before shrugging. This was not the answer Junkrat was hoping for apparently because he sent a string of curses his way.

Roadhog stood suddenly and took a step forward.

“You know I didn’t mean it, right?” Junkrat babbled, tripping over his own words as he continued his apology.

Roadhog continued to move towards him.

By the time he got there, Junkrat was squeezing his eyes shut and looking away.

All Roadhog did was unattach his prosthetic from the rest of his arm. “Oh,” mumbled Junkrat, stepping back now that he was free. “I didn’t think to do that.” He just got a grunt in response.

The prosthetic was now leaning rather limply in the trap. Roadhog bent over to pick up one of the screwdrivers and turned over the trap, fiddling with one of the screws until the trap came apart. These things really were held together by next to nothing.

Junkrat’s arm clattered onto the wood of the desk.

He let the rest of the scrap fall to the desk and picked up the arm. He turned it over in his hand. There were holes on each side where the trap had bitten into the metal but it would probably still work. No reason to fix it up any yet.

He tossed it in Junkrat’s direction who scrambled to catch it with his free hand. It was reattached by the time Roadhog made it back to the couch.

“Thanks Roadie,” Junkrat called happily as he went back to reassembling the trap.

Roadhog just nodded in response.


End file.
